


Before and After

by buttermans



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship, His Last Vow Spoilers, Minor The Sign of Three spoilers, Molly is a badass!, Non-canon events in the canonical universe, OC in later chapters, POV Molly, POV Molly Hooper, Series Three, TW: Domestic Abuse, character growth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:37:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1799068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttermans/pseuds/buttermans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly Hooper is not the same person she was when Sherlock Holmes "died" two years ago, but when he returns she discovers her happy life may not be as happy as she believed.<br/>Set post SoT, during, and post HLV.<br/>Based on a "meat dagger AU" idea where Tom and David team up to solve and tweet about crimes.<br/>As per usual, none of these characters belong to me. They belong to the BBC, Mofftiss, and the originator Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Mary and John's Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first published fic so please bear with me while I figure out the best way to tag, summarize, and format things. I tend to write dialogue heavy and description light, which I'm working on, but if that style doesn't please you then you'd be better off elsewhere. 
> 
> The meat dagger AU idea comes from this post: http://darlingbenny.tumblr.com/post/87937765067

“Yeah, but it’s not just the speech is it?”

Molly warned them. She had warned everybody save John, whom she didn’t want to worry, what with it being his wedding and all. But she had said something to everyone else and they had brushed her off. Typical.  
Of course what no one (no one but Molly) saw was Sherlock sneaking out of the dancing hall, most likely so he could go home and compose something very different from the waltz he had just played. Molly was dancing with Tom, but she was watching Sherlock. He really shouldn’t be alone. She looked at Tom. He was bouncing sloppily on the balls of his feet, glass of champagne in hand. He was one or two away from being indecent. Ever since the speech when he embarrassed himself (and her) with the guess about the meat dagger he had steadily been downing alcohol. Great. Now not only was she going to be stuck with the “meat dagger guy” she was most likely also going to be stuck with the “tipsy/drunk meat dagger guy”. She wondered, not for the first time, if she had rushed into their engagement too quickly. 

“What are you thinking?” Tom asked, looking down at her.

“That you should probably let me take that glass.”

“And go refill it for me?” 

The hopeful tone in his voice irritated her.  
“And go set it back in the dining room out of your reach. Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”  
Tom looked stung, and Molly instantly softened. She hated making him sad. She also felt bad for being frustrated at him on what had already been a difficult day for him. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m worried about Sherlock.”

“Why? He can take care of himself. Bloody brilliant he is.”

“That’s what he wants you to think. But he’s also incredibly stupid. I’m going to go find him; make sure he gets home alright.”

“He’s not already left has he? The dancing is the best bit!”

“I’ll see you at home Tom.”

She kissed his cheek and thought, “You beautiful, unobservant fool”. Luckily Sherlock hadn’t got much of a head start on her. He was on the pathway, turning up his coat collar-“Sherlock!”

“Molly?” 

Sherlock turned, confused at the sight of her jogging to catch up with him, yellow bow bouncing in her hair as she stepped.  
“Do you want some company?”

“I don’t require it. I’m taking advantage of Mrs. Hudson’s absence to check the progress of an experiment. I’m testing the decay rate of fingerprints after death. Knowing how long one’s fingerprint is viable should prove valuable in future cases. Mrs. Hudson…dislikes body parts so I’ve taken pains to keep them hidden from her since I moved back in.”

See? That. Right there. Anyone who thought Sherlock was an uncaring sociopath obviously didn’t know him well enough.

“I actually adore disembodied fingers.” Molly said.

“Really? With your background I would’ve assumed you prefer your deceased to come fully intact.”

“Did I tell you? One time we had this guy come in…all that was left was his finger. At first Scotland Yard thought his best friend had murdered him along with a bunch of other people and was so vicious he had destroyed the rest of the guy’s body. It turned out the guy wasn’t dead after all; he just cut off his own finger and disappeared in order to frame his friend for all the other murders.”

“Really?”

Sherlock cocked his head, clearly interested in the story.

“Did they find the man? What am I saying, of course they didn’t. Do you still have the finger? I can analyze it; call in some favors…maybe even track him down. What’s his name?”

Molly giggled. It was too much, really too much.

“Does Harry Potter really not merit a spot in your mind palace? I’m surprised Sherlock.”

“Molly!”  
Sherlock huffed in annoyance but when he looked at Molly and saw her smiling, hand extended towards him so they could walk to the main road together he couldn’t help but smile. 

“Some of us were too busy memorizing chemical compositions to discuss whether Snape was a “good guy” or a “bad guy”,” he said, taking her hand.

“Bad guy. Definitely. Take me to your fingers.”

Molly wouldn’t normally continue to hold Sherlock’s hand after the initial gesture of comfort, but to her surprise it was him who continued to hold on. He only let go for the briefest of moments when she was getting in the cab and he was entering behind her. Then he took her hand again and held it for the entire ride. “He must really be in a bad state”, she thought, “to require this level of tactile comfort.” The ride was quiet since Molly had finally figured out that not every silence with Sherlock needed to be filled with babbling and conversational attempts. It was alright for them to just be. It wasn’t until they arrived at Baker Street and were exiting the cab when Sherlock asked, “Is Tom okay with this?”

“Okay with what? Me spending time with you?”

“He must be aware of our…history. It might make him uncomfortable.”

“The history of me trying to flirt with you and you being a complete ass?”

“Good point.”

“It’s none of Tom’s business who I spend my time with Sherlock. He trusts me. But yes, he knows I’m with you and no, I don’t think he minds.”

Sherlock nodded and said nothing more as he unlocked the door. They walked up the steps to the sitting room and Molly settled herself in John’s chair as Sherlock went to his room to hang up his coat. He returned a moment later and asked, “Tea?”

“You’re offering me tea?”

“I thought it appropriate, you being a guest and all.”

“I didn’t think you knew where you kept your tea.”

“Contrary to what everyone thinks I am capable of taking care of menial details such as the storing and making of tea. I simply dislike taking care of menial details.”

“Then maybe I should make the tea.”

“You’re the guest.”

“There can be exceptions to the rule.”

Molly stood and moved into the kitchen, gathering the necessary tea making items and mugs with practiced ease. She had been over a lot in the time after Sherlock had come home and before John had forgiven him, so she knew the house about as well as Sherlock (and probably better than John these days). She filled the kettle and set it boiling, then looked at Sherlock.  
“Fingers?”

Sherlock looked past her towards the tiling on the kitchen wall, which had somehow acquired new stains since Molly had last been over. Sherlock remembered the explosion that had caused that purple-y blue looking one and smiled. “Fingers?” Molly prompted again. It would help him if he had something to take his mind off the wedding. “Or would you rather talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about. John has married a wonderful woman, they’ll continue to live together and raise a family.”  
“You don’t know if they’re going to raise a family.”

Sherlock looked at her with his You’re-Being-Stupid stare and suddenly Molly realized.

“You do know they’re going to raise a family because Mary is already pregnant.”

“And the shoe drops. Well done Miss Hooper, as usual your observational powers are in peak form.”

“Stop it. Don’t be horrible to me. I saw you leave and nobody else did. I make an effort to be your friend and I care about you. Don’t take your anger out on me.”

This rebuttal was surprising to Sherlock. He had seen that Molly had changed in the time he had left but he had underestimated the level of her confidence. He immediately backed down.

“Apologies.”

“S’fine.”

“Would you like to hear the song I’m working on?”

Molly brightened (and Sherlock did too, though he didn’t fully realize it). Hearing him play was one of her favorite things because it was one of the few ways he was able to fully express himself. That and he was a brilliant musician. She nodded, and he walked over to his music stand and began to warm up as Molly made the tea. She placed his cup on the table beside his stand, though it was now likely to go cold as Sherlock could play for hours for a willing audience. Molly sat again, listening to Sherlock warm up and closed her eyes. The warmth of the tea seeped from the cup into her hands and soothed her along with the notes. When Sherlock felt ready he transitioned from scales to his new piece and it was, as Molly suspected it might be, heart wrenching. The clash of the minor chords and sweeping notes as they grew louder and louder reminded her of an anguished wail, a wail that cried “He’s never coming home” over and over. Occasionally Sherlock stopped and wrote new notes on his composition paper, or re-wrote sections, pencil scribbling out old emotions in favor of new. Molly simply sat and listened. She listened to Sherlock cry, and when he was finally done crying, when he could no longer play because his hands were raw and his eyes were drooping with exhaustion, she quietly stood up and took the violin from him. She led him to his bedroom, tucked him under the sheets, kissed him on the forehead and said, “He’s not going to forget about you Sherlock. He loves you too.” He was already asleep.   
She cleaned up the mugs, and snuck down the stairs, doing her best not to wake Mrs. Hudson who had come home some hours ago and was snoring away in a post wedding daze. Molly opened the door to 221B and stepped out onto the pavement as dawn was releasing its first rays of light.  
Molly actually didn’t live too far from Sherlock so she decided to walk home. She wondered briefly if she looked like she was on a walk of shame but decided it didn’t matter because no one else was about. She let herself into her flat quietly, expecting Tom to be asleep, but he was waiting for her at the table. He had a bottle of whiskey in front of him and no glass, which was a bad sign. He didn’t look at her as he slurred, “Where have you been?”

“I told you, I was making sure Sherlock got home alright.”

“And that takes all night does it?”

“Tom. He’s having a rough time with John being married. He doesn’t know how to cope with John not being in his life regularly.” 

That wasn’t entirely true, but Molly wasn’t about to tell Tom the full reason Sherlock wasn’t alright.

“I don’t give two shits about that arrogant bastard. I needed you tonight. You leffft me.”

“Stop it Tom. Go to bed and we’ll talk about this when you’ve slept it off.”

Tom lurched out of the chair he had been sitting in and stumbled over to Molly. He grabbed her shoulders roughly to steady himself and pushed his face closer to hers. He whispered, “They laughed at me.”

“Who?”

Tom’s eyes were unfocused so Molly spoke up more.

“Who, Tom? Who laughed at you?”

He focused, shook his head, and whispered again, “The people on twitter. Some guy- David whatsit put a picture up of me dancing by myself saying “looks like meat dagger guy’s date couldn’t stand to be embarrassed by him anymore”.” Molly’s face fell. Of course something like this had happened. Tom hated to be embarrassed and he had had to deal with this all on his own. She cupped his drooping head with her hands and pulled it up so he was looking at her.

“I’m so sorry that happened. I’m sorry people are awful.”

“It wouldn’t have happened if you had left me for curly-haired ass tits. You’re always leaving me for him. Every time he needs you, off you pop. You’re his little bitch.”

“That’s enough Tom.”

“I bet you pretend I’m him when we fuck. You have to stop yourself from moaning his name every time you come.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never come while being with you.”

This time when Tom looked stung Molly didn’t soften. When he realized she wasn’t going to apologize, he started to shake her. “Take it back, you whore. TAKE IT BACK!” As he shouted spittle flung from his mouth onto her face and she struggled to break herself from his grasp. With her left foot she stepped hard on his toes which startled him enough into releasing her. Tom looked down at his wounded toes, back up into Molly’s eyes and, without hesitation, slapped her hard across the face. Molly fell backward into the hall, but did not lose her balance. She situated herself and ran through options in her head. If Tom came after her she could run to the bedroom, lock the door and call Lestrade. As she thought this anger began to well up inside her. No. She would not run. She was tired of having boyfriends treat her like she was worthless or blame her for things out of her control. As Tom started towards her she kicked out hard, hitting him full in the groin. He stumbled and started to go down and Molly thrust the lower portion of her palm up into his nose, hard. She heard a cracking sound and watched as Tom crumbled, unconscious from either the kick, the palm or all the drinking. She didn’t really care which. She pocketed his keys and dragged his unconscious form outside. When Tom woke up there was a ring on his pinky finger and a note taped to his chest.   
THIS ENGAGEMENT IS OVER.

Molly was not inside the flat.


	2. One Month- After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly visits her therapist and sees Sherlock for the first time since the incident.

“So, how are things going?”

Molly bit her lip as she thought about the question. When she had first started seeing Dr. Wellein a month ago she had been surprised at how small her office was. She assumed that a doctor would have enough money to afford a larger space, but Wellein had told her she preferred a more intimate setting. Molly was also surprised there wasn’t a Freud like sofa for patients to lie on, but that was probably because she had only seen therapy sessions in films. Wellein’s office had become a sort of second home with its large picture window facing the street to let the maximum amount of light in, scuffed hardwood floor, and large quantities of potted plants. Molly wondered if she should try to have more potted plants in her flat despite her green thumb being decidedly brown.

“Molly?”

“Sorry! Things are good. Very good. I went to the cinema with Jane and Marcie the other day and I only looked over my shoulder five times.”

“That’s definitely an improvement.”

“I know! The thing is- I feel so silly having that be an accomplishment. It’s not like situations other women have been in. He only hit me once. I feel like if it had been more than once or if had done something worse then I’d be okay with my level of paranoia. But as it is. I moved flats. I’m taking self defense classes. I think I’m taking this too far.”

“Molly,” Dr. Wellein looked at her sternly, but not unkindly. “I don’t think you’re taking things too far. There are extreme responses to domestic violence but what you’re talking about, what you tell me? It’s all normal for someone coming out of your situation. When you and I first started talking you told me you didn’t realize people actually behaved that way. Do you remember that?”

Molly nodded. Of course she remembered saying that, sobbing it as she cried in the patient’s chair as Wellein handed her tissues. She’d never forget the feeling she had in that moment, the realization that the moment his hand connected with her cheek her life was divided into sections. He hadn’t shattered any bones, but he had shattered her. Her hope in people, in men, had been replaced with a distrust she found ugly and unwanted. She wished she could go back and be the cat jumper wearing, slightly silly woman she used to be. But she couldn’t. Her naivety had been, quite literally, smacked out of her.

“So now you know that. And taking steps to prepare yourself so you won’t be in a position of ignorance again isn’t paranoia.”

“No, but having to look over your shoulder during the best parts of a film because you’re afraid your ex has snuck into the theatre-“

“Is also normal for the first few months. I hate telling people this because they never like hearing it, but getting over that? Feeling comfortable in public again? That’s just going to take time. There’s no way to rush it.”

Molly grimaced and Dr. Wellein chuckled. 

“See? Everybody hates me saying that. Until you feel comfortable again though it’s good to have people out with you. Did you meet Jane and Marcie in your defense class?”

Molly nodded. “Marcie had an abusive girlfriend so she understands.”

“Do you two ever talk about that together?”

“Not really. We prefer to keep that aspect out of our friendship. We don’t want it to be our pivotal bonding point.”

“Fair enough. And the new flat is working out?”

“Uh-huh.”

Molly had wanted to move out immediately after the incident but it was harder to find a new place than she had anticipated. She ended up texting Mary who told her to stay at her and John’s while they were on their honeymoon and longer if necessary. Not wanting to be intrusive she took up as little space as possible in the guest room and unpacked almost nothing of her belongings. She even felt guilty eating their food, until Mary texted her saying: _Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not like we’re going to be eating it. You’re not an inconvenience Molly. Enjoy the place. Play loud music. Drink too much. Have a wank. Eat that bloody Nutella sitting in the pantry._

Mary knew Molly way too well, and for the next week she practically lived off Nutella and toast, and if John was disappointed that his stash was severely diminished he had the good grace to say nothing to Molly about it. Mary hadn’t told him why Molly was staying but he assumed it wasn’t for fun. Eventually with their help, and the keen eye of Mrs. Hudson who always kept an eye out for affordable places, Molly was able to find a flat close to Bart’s that didn’t require her to sell any organs on the black market to make payments. The couple living there before her was getting ready to retire and move to the country and they wanted to be rid of it as quick as possible. When Molly met with them to discuss renting they hit it off splendidly. He had just turned over his defense practice to his nephew and she was a retired librarian who was looking forward to having space to grow a massive garden. When they asked her why she was looking for a new place she didn’t shy away from telling them the truth. She wasn’t looking for pity from them, but she didn’t want to flat hunt forever and the location was ideal. Her story cemented their decision and they offered her the place the next day. 

It wasn’t a large flat: two rooms, kitchen, toilet, but she still loved it. The spiral staircase up to what would be her bedroom was immensely pleasing as it was something Molly had always wanted but had never had. There were three windows and one wall had wallpaper with tiny roses on it so she bought a large floral rug to match. A large floor to ceiling bookshelf was soon filled with her novels and medical journals. She and Mary moved all her things from her old place in one day (after Mary did thorough reconnaissance to make certain Tom wasn’t around) and it was finally starting to feel like home. 

“I don’t know if it’s appropriate to be asking you, but if you wanted to come ‘round for tea and see it I’d love to have you.”

Wellein smiled. “I’d love to come. We’ll set up a time before you leave. We’re almost done for this week, but I’d like to ask you one last thing. Sherlock?”

“I still haven’t seen him.”

“So he doesn’t know what happened, or why.”

“He doesn’t need to. It’s not his business, and if he finds out he’ll do something horrible to Tom and I don’t want that. I just want to be done with all of it. Tom. Relationships. I want to be on my own.”

“Are seeing Sherlock and relationships directly related?”

“No.” Molly was starting to get angry, as she did any time Dr. Wellein brought up her lack of communication with the detective.  
“Not anymore. But it’s not easy with him. He’s so unlike anyone else I’ve ever met. I don’t- I’m not interested in him anymore, but I don’t want. I don’t know what I don’t want. I don’t want to have a weird rebound type thing where he becomes so important that other things don’t matter.”

“You don’t want him to get in the way of your healing process.”

“Yes. That. He requires quite a lot of attention sometimes. We still text, and for now that has got to be enough.”

“Does he understand that?”

“I don’t think he’s really noticed. He’s been busy with some crime something. A serial killer I think.”

“Sounds fun.”

“It’s Christmas to him. The only way he’d be happier is if he discovered another crime while he was solving this one.”

Their time was at a close and, as usual, Molly thanked Dr. Wellein for listening to her and, as usual, Dr. Wellein told her it wasn’t necessary because A- Molly was paying her to listen, and B- She’d listen anyway. Molly had just stepped out the office door when her phone buzzed.

Lestrade:  
 _Need you to come down to the Yard._   
Molly:  
 _???_  
Lestrade:  
 _The bastard has gotten himself into some trouble._

Molly snorted at Lestrade’s name for Sherlock. Why was he texting her though? John was normally the one who bailed Sherlock out of situations that involved the police. Molly was a good citizen but any police aside from Greg made her nervous so she wasn’t the best one to call for a rescue operation. 

Molly:  
 _Finding a cab. There in a few._

When Molly arrived at Scotland Yard she asked at reception for directions to Greg’s office. A friendly secretary gave her instructions and she found his office with little trouble. She knocked on the door, and Greg waved her in.

“Molly! Good of you to come down.”

“It’s no trouble. What’s going on with Sherlock?”

“He’s in holding. He attacked a man who came in with information for Donovan about the tourist killer. Had to put him in holding until he cooled off. I couldn’t get in touch with John or Mary so I thought I’d try you.”

“Has he been arrested?”

“Nah. Bloke he attacked went to hospital but said he didn’t want to press charges. I’m surprised; Sherlock made a right mess of him. Anyway, I didn’t want to just let him go, knowing him he’d follow the guy and finish what he started so if you could just…make sure he gets home?”

“Sure.”

“Great. Follow me; I’ll take you to him.”

Molly walked behind Lestrade as he led her through the station to the holding cells. Him calling her was a nice gesture but they both knew if Sherlock didn’t want to go home there was no way she could force him to. She hoped for her own sake that his strop had passed enough that he wouldn’t be much trouble. Lestrade stopped just in front of the doors that led to the cells and said, “Far as I go. He’s pretty upset with me right now, though I put him here for his own good. When you’re ready to leave just yell for Cheapes here”, he pointed to an on duty officer who was alternately thumbing through a magazine and watching security footage of the cells, “and he’ll come unlock the door. Thanks again Molly.”

Lestrade turned away and Molly walked down the dully painted hall to the cell Sherlock was sitting in. Since it was a quiet afternoon at the Yard all other cells were empty for the time being, and Sherlock sat in a cross-legged meditative position on the floor.

“Hello trouble.”

Sherlock opened his eyes.

“Molly. I wasn’t expecting you given your current penchant for avoiding me, but it’s lovely to see you nonetheless. Call the guard and we can leave this foul”, he gestured to the room around him “excuse for a room.”

Well, Sherlock was still Sherlock. It was actually sort of nice to know that while Molly’s world was completely different he was still insufferable. 

“Ah. We’re going to talk about this first.”

“I despise talking.”

“Since when? Your own voice is one of your favorite sounds.”

“You’ve certainly become more brazen in our time apart. I’m not sure I like it.”

“That’s nice. Now, I’ve had a rather long day, so please be succinct. Why are you in holding?”

“Surely George already told you.”

“I want to hear your version.” Molly ignored the quip on Greg’s name.

“Why have you had a long day?”

“Don’t avoid the question.”

“Is it because your therapy session was more intense today than you would’ve liked?”

“How do you know I’m seeing a therapist?”

“You’re more aware when you walk into a room and settle into defensive postures when not consciously thinking about your stance. Previously you did none of these things, which suggests a personally traumatic event and since you’re generally a proactive person you’re seeing a therapist to work past whatever it is that happened to you. You’ve also lost five pounds and increased your muscle tone which means you’re engaging in vigorous exercise. Since you’re not an unhealthy person this probably means your therapist suggested this as a way to relieve stress. Now, what was the traumatic event? That’s the question.”

“No, the question is why you're in holding.”

“He beat me.”

“What?”

“He beat me.”

“Who?”

“Tom. Your Tom. He beat me.”

Confusion overtook Molly and she almost mentioned that Tom was not in fact “her Tom” anymore, but she caught herself at the last moment. Was he abusing people willy-nilly now?

“If he beat you, then why are you locked up and not him?”

“Not physically. I was trying to solve a case. He solved it first.”

“Tom solved a case before you. That’s- I mean, he’s not stupid but he’s not…he’s not you. How’d he solve it?”

“I don’t know. I came to give Lestrade some information I’d been collecting about the Trafalgar Terror, but when I arrived I saw Tom in with Sergeant Donovan. He was handing over my information. Mine. She thanked him and he walked out with a condescending smirk. He was so pleased to have the police think he had outwitted me in my own field; I’m pleased to still have two of his bottom teeth in my pocket as a souvenir. Apologies to you, he’ll probably have to shave his head; I ripped off more of his hair than I was intending. You must know though that your fiancée is exceedingly vain.”

Molly sighed. She didn’t want this to happen, wanted Sherlock to continue on talking in ignorance, but he’d figure it out soon, if he hadn’t already. It wasn’t like she was wearing a ring anymore.

“He’s not my fiancée.”

Sherlock stopped.

“Repeat that.”

“Not. My. Fiancée.”

Sherlock looked down at Molly, his eyes piercing hers to the point where she had to look away or risk crying on the spot.

“That’s the traumatic event. How many times?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“The hell it doesn’t.”

“I mean it. It does not matter to you.”

Sherlock started to speak again but Molly interrupted, “I’m not asking; I’m telling. What happened between him and me is my concern, not yours. I am taking care of it. I know what you’re thinking. Don’t touch him, don’t intimidate him, and for God’s sake don’t kill him. Don’t even look at him.”

Never had Sherlock been so keen to argue, but he had never seen Molly so resolved. He saw that she wasn’t the same person she had been the night they went to Baker Street together and she put him to bed after the wedding and the sadness and the feelings he still was not ready to address. He had known loss that night and he felt it again now: Loss for the Molly Hooper that was gone. He could only hope (foolish, stupid thing that it was) that one day a similar version of her would return. He reached into his pocket, then held his hand out to her through the bars. She thought he was offering it to her to hold, but she saw that he was actually holding out a molar and a lower canine. She laughed.

“Clearly you need them more than I do.”

“Why’s that?”

“To remind you that he’s mortal. And weak. And you are so much stronger than him.”

Molly took the teeth and placed them in the inside pouch of her bag. Maybe she’d make necklaces out of them, one for Sherlock and one for her. They’d be the strangest BFF necklaces around, but she rather liked that. 

“Ready to get out of here?”

“Exceedingly.”

Molly called for the guard to release Sherlock and when the door slid open he nearly leapt out and did something that was so shocking Molly thought she might have to create her own mind palace to keep the memory in to be played over in times of sadness. He opened his arms and pulled her close, wrapping himself around her in a protective fashion, tucking her head to his chest, and setting his chin atop her hair. They stood there like that, him covering her and her standing there, until he released her and said, “I’ve missed you.”


	3. One Month and One Day- After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly catches up with Mary, other people catch up with Molly.

After Sherlock released Molly from his shocking display of sentiment she stood looking at him blankly for a few seconds. He missed her. That was new. They didn’t say anything as they left Scotland Yard but Sherlock looked nervous as he tried to hail a cab. Sherlock, nervous around Molly? What was it, Opposite Day? Had things really changed that much? She sought to reassure him, tapped his shoulder as he continued to stick his arm in the street.

“Hey.”

Sherlock hummed in acknowledgement, eyes not leaving the road.

“You understand why I haven’t been around.”

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you too.”

Sherlock turned to face her. “I’m aware. I apologize for startling you with my display of affection.”

“It’s fine.”

“Oh my god, he loves you, he bloody loves you. You know that right? Please tell me you can see that.”

Mary’s interruption threw off Molly’s concentration. She had initially invited Mary over right after she saw Sherlock home but Mary asked if they could meet a different day. “This baby,” she said. “If he’s not making me sick he’s turning my bladder into a bounce house.” The baby had decided to behave the next day though so Mary came over and sat on the sofa with Molly, packet of Oreos laid out just for her. Molly had a gin and tonic to go with her Oreos; it was pre Happy Hour for her. 

“He might, but not in the way you’re thinking.”

“Are you being willfully ignorant Hoops?”

“You’re one to talk,” Molly thought. “You can’t even see the way your husband’s best friend looks at him, or the way your husband tries not to look at his best friend.”

“I’m pretty sure Sherlock is only capable of platonic love. And that’s fine.”

A lie. Not the part about it being fine.

“I bet you a tenner you’re wrong.”

“How long is this bet going to go?”

“Until we get concrete proof one way or another. Or until you sleep together. Then I definitely win.”

“Who says we’re going to sleep together?”

“He gave you Tom’s teeth. That’s practically an engagement ring. And you’re planning on turning them into necklaces.”

“That’s meant to be a laugh and you know it. I’m rather off sex at the moment.”

“Me too, but not for lack of trying.”

Molly laughed. When she first met Mary she had been unsure of the petite blond and had kept her distance. Mary had been friendly though and within minutes of starting a conversation she understood why John loved her. Her smile was infectious, her laugh boisterous, and she was both fierce and honest. Molly admired that. 

“So he got home alright and you got home alright and fucking Tom got stitches and dentures.”

“Something like that. I guess things are finally starting to get back to normal.”

“As normal as things get with Sherlock Holmes in your life.”

Molly chuckled.

“What I don’t understand,” Mary said, “is how Tom solved a case before Sherlock. I didn’t know he was that interested in crime.”

“He’s not really. I mean he reads the blog, and the articles about Sherlock solving things, but he’s more of a fan. It’s not intellectual stimulation. He teaches primary school maths; he’s hardly a genius.”

“Have you thought about getting him fired?”

This wasn’t the first time they had had this conversation. Molly rebuffed Mary again because she knew Tom would never hit the children he taught. His abuse had been specific and personal.

“All I’m saying…”

“Is that that’s an acceptable form of revenge? That’s not what I’m after. Getting Tom fired won’t make me feel any better. And it will definitely make him spiteful.”

“You’re too forgiving Hoops.”

“I haven’t forgiven him!”

Molly’s shouting startled Mary who dropped the Oreo she was holding. Molly picked it up off the rug and handed it to Mary, who shrugged and bit into it.

“I don’t want to get even. I want to get on with it. With my life. I hate that man, but he’s not worth the effort it would take to bring him down.”

Mary looked at Molly and said softly, “You’re a much better person than I am. I would’ve killed him.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Molly grabbed an Oreo for herself and clinked it to Mary’s half eaten one.

“Cheers.”

“What for?”

“Being friends.”

Mary smiled. “Cheers.”

They ate their Oreos in a comfortable silence while Mary grabbed the remote sitting on the side table. She turned the TV on and Molly got up to put on the second series of The Hour. It was one of her favorite shows but until Mary she couldn’t get anyone interested enough in it to watch it with her. Mary adored Lix so Molly had taken to calling her that occasionally.

“I can’t believe Hector is being such an arse this series.”

“It’ll get worse before it gets better.”

“Keep that clichéd shit to yourself.”

“Your baby is going to have an appalling mouth.”

“Shush. Where’s Richmond?”

Richmond, another new thing in Molly’s life was a year old German Shepherd who Molly had adopted. Despite being a big dog he delighted in cuddles, and was very good about curling up next to her on the nights she had nightmares about Tom, or work, or Sherlock actually dying. 

“He’s asleep in the tub. I’ve no idea why but he loves it in there. It’s his favorite spot in the flat. He should probably go out for a wee break though.”

Molly started toward the toilet, but Mary stood up and stopped her.

“Let me. I need a wee break myself.”

She moved past Molly to the toilet and Molly let the DVD run through previews. When Mary returned Richmond was padding behind her, a sleepy dog smile on his face. Mary opened the door to the garden and nudged him with her foot saying, “Go on you big brute. Outside.” He was out all of four seconds when he began barking frantically. “Oh shut up Richmond!” Molly’s raised voice did nothing to stem Richmond’s noises so she walked over and stuck her head out the door. The breath she had been about to use to admonish Richmond again came back and choked her.  
Her garden was a mess. Patches of grass had been roughly torn up leaving ugly bald spots of brown earth. The wildflowers she had been attempting to grow had been violently stamped on and broken blossoms hung from crushed stems. On her shed wall was black graffiti sprayed in jagged capital letters that contrasted the cheerful yellow paint.

**DID YOU MISS ME? (CUNT)**

Underneath the graffiti a package sat flush with the shed wall. Molly looked around quickly to see if anyone was hiding out, but she didn’t notice anyone and there wasn’t much space to or cover to hide. The damage must’ve been recent though since Molly had watered the flowers in the morning and Richmond was sniffing around and growling. 

“Molly, is everything alright?” Mary’s voice rang through the hall and out into the decimated garden.

“No! I need to you bring me my phone please!”

Mary brought it out to her, stopping abruptly at the door.

“Oh. My. God.”

Molly didn’t call the police per say, but she did call Lestrade who, although not usually one to respond to vandalism reports, came out to Molly’s anyway with a team of officers. She told him everything that had happened that led up to the vandalism.

“Christ Molly,” he said. “So your old flame’s escalated from being a massive dick to a potential harassing and stalking dick.”

“Yes? I can’t think of anyone else who would swear at me via my shed.”

“And you didn’t touch the package?”

“Absolutely not.”

She was back on the couch; Mary sat beside her while Lestrade questioned her. There was one officer outside dealing with the graffiti and another canvassing the area for any witnesses who might’ve seen someone suspicious. 

“Well, we didn’t find any fingerprints on the bloody thing, and it doesn’t appear to be a bomb, so we might as well open it up here. It might give us some concrete proof that Tom’s behind this.”

The package sat on the coffee table, wrapped innocuously in simple brown paper and string. Lestrade asked, “Would you like to do the honors or shall I?”

“I might as well. It was left for me.”

He handed her a pair of disposable gloves and she untied the string. She carefully unwrapped the paper to find something wrapped in a wad tissue paper that might once have been white but what was slowly turning a reddish-brown. It appeared to be oozing. The smell that wafted from the mass into the room was entirely repugnant and all three of them gagged. Molly pushed through the seeping paper and revealed a long thick object. It was old flesh pressed hard against old bone, layers upon layers to give it mass and form. A sharpened piece of bone at one end came to a point, while another bone was laid on the other end which was clearly meant to be a handle.

“Oh god, what is that?” Lestrade blanched.

“A meat dagger.” Molly said tonelessly and Mary’s face went white.

“That’s sick. That fucker is completely sick.”

Things went fairly quickly after that. While the evidence surrounding Tom’s involvement was circumstantial Molly knew it was him and began proceedings with Lestrade for a restraining order. She was adamant about not moving again, despite his advice to the contrary.

“He knows where you are, and until we get something that proves he’s an utter scumbag, there’s nothing to stop him from coming here and harassing you again.”

It was Mary’s idea to install security cameras, motion sensor lights and an alarm system which Lestrade agreed was an acceptable compromise and Molly acquiesced to because she was still processing everything that had happened in the past few hours. John was recruited to help with installation and after three hours’ equipment search and one hours’ shopping he was stood outside on a ladder nailing in the brackets where the cameras would sit. Lestrade had gone back to the Yard to get Molly’s restraining order officially started. 

“Is this why you moved?” John asked while Molly handed him nails. She nodded.

“I thought you were just having an argument. I had no idea it was this bad. Mary never told me.”

“I asked her not to. It’s alright John.”

“It’s bloody not. If I ever see him again I’ll kill him.”

“I’d just as rather you didn’t.” 

What was it with men wanting to kill other men on behalf of women? If Molly wanted Tom dead she could’ve killed him herself. Death was her profession after all. 

“Okay look,” John began, clearly uncomfortable but determined, “I’m not trying to step on your independence here, but if you ever feel unsafe you call me okay? I’ll come stay with you so there’s another body in the flat. And if you want me to show you how to use my gun…”

“Yes to first, no to the second.”

John nodded.

“Thank you, John.”

Mary came out and sat in one of the chairs while John finished putting up the cameras. There were two in the garden and one by the front door. The ones in the garden were attached to the shed and wall by the back door, respectively. Set for continuous recording their thinly concealed wires led back into the flat and connected to a burner laptop that would pick up the images. They were meant to be long lasting recording which meant Molly should only have to charge the batteries once a week. She had purchased extra ones just in case. An electrician had been called and an appointment was set up for him to come the next day to install the lights. A security company would install an alarm system the day after. John knew several ex-army acquaintances that were in the security business so he was able to recommend someone trustworthy and got Molly a discount to boot. It was getting dark and Molly offered to make her two friends dinner as part of a thank you for being so helpful that day. Mary, noting her friend’s exhaustion suggested takeaway instead and they all agreed to order pizza.  
There was no talk of the day’s events as they ate. Instead Mary and John alternated telling funny stories about patients that had come into their office and Molly was glad to have a reason to laugh. Evening turned to night and as she thought about them leaving her mind became murky and she had to force herself to breathe so she wouldn’t panic. She could ask them to stay and they surely would, but she wasn’t sure how to say she wasn’t okay without sounding needy. She started to say, “If you need to get going…” and John looked at her incredulously while Mary snorted.

“If you think we’re leaving you alone tonight Hoops-“she didn’t get a chance to finish as Molly collapsed into her and began to sob. Mary sat there on the sofa, arms around Molly, soothing her while John cleaned up the pizza remains. 

“It’s going to be alright” Mary whispered, over and over and finally Molly’s dread gave way to relief. She wouldn’t have to face tonight by herself.  
She made up a makeshift bed for John on the sofa while Mary decided she would share Molly’s queen sized bed. She already had a toothbrush in the bathroom, which John borrowed and she stole some of Molly’s old pajama bottoms. As Molly settled in for the night, Mary curled up by her side, Richmond at her feet, John downstairs with his illegal gun, she released a deep breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding. Tom had found her, had violated her space, but she was going to be alright. She had her friends and her defense knowledge and she wasn’t alone. For the first time since the attack Molly slept peacefully the whole night through.  
Richmond didn’t bark once.


	4. Hours- Before, During, One Hour- After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly finds out Tom isn't done solving crimes and has gained himself a partner. Molly and Sherlock fight, and Molly ends up spending a night out with Janine. Sherlock has plans.

Sherlock had deduced nearly everything about the vandalism but he didn’t say much about it other than asking if the cameras were working correctly. Molly affirmed that they were and the subject was dropped. His actions betrayed some sort of concern however; he was pacing continually between his chair and the kitchen (a clear shot now that the extra chair had been moved, Molly noted), laptop tucked under his arm, muttering in a low enough tone to be incomprehensible. This wasn’t Sherlock’s normal pacing routine; he seemed frantic, and this unnerved Molly.

“Should I go home?”

“Hmmm? No. Stay.”

“Can I help?”

“Do you remember David? Mary’s overly keen ex?”

The name sounded familiar, but Molly couldn’t put a face to it so she shook her head.

“He’s the one who tweeted the photo of Tom drunk dancing by himself.”

Oh. That David.

“Why are you worried about him? Has he made inappropriate advances toward Mary?” Molly had meant this as a joke, and then realized what Sherlock might do to someone who threatened the Watson’s domestic life. “You haven’t done something horrible to him.”

“Your imagination is something else Molly.”

“You faked your death for two years so you could best a mass murderer. Threatening a civilian is definitely something you’d do. Have done.”

“Slightly off point, but I take your meaning. I haven’t done anything to him. Yet.”

“How promising,” Molly said as Sherlock stopped his pacing in front of her and dropped his laptop onto her lap. The afternoon sun filtering in from the curtains glinted on the surface, casting sun spots onto the door. She opened the laptop lid and up popped a twitter account.

“I take it this is David’s page.” She said, giving a cursory glance at it.

“Correct.”

“And we care about it because?”

“Look at it!” Sherlock yelled flumping on the sofa next to Molly. He jabbed at the screen with his finger while Molly scrolled through the alarmingly long tweet log. 

“Look at the handler name, @MeatDagger. Obviously a reference to how they met.”

At meat dagger. The words made Molly feel cold.

“David’s friends with Tom now? That doesn’t make any sense. Tom was so angry about that picture. Now they’re buddies? Why?”

“Are you really not reading the screen in front of you? Shall I fetch Mrs. Hudson’s glasses for you?”

“Well it’s a bit difficult to see anything with your great big tree hands blocking my view.”

Sherlock scooted away from Molly to the far end of the sofa. He drew his knees up into himself, gathered his robe around them and clasped his arms over them, looking straight ahead. Molly had come to think of this as his defensive sulking position. She ignored him and began to read.

**Cant beleive we solved another1 before the mighty Holmes!**

**Sgt. D is our fave member of Scotland Yard :)**

**T says hes close to solving this homicide**

**Man I’m glad I met this dude.**

**Security gaurds are wells of info if u know how 2 talk 2 them.**

“Tom’s still solving cases.”

“And David tweets about it.”

Molly didn’t want to recognize the parallel, but it was undeniable.

“He can’t actually believe he’s anything like John. His spelling is horrible for starters. And Tom can’t think he’s going to be able to compete with you. You’ve been solving crimes since you were a fetus.”

“It’s not the solving that’s impressive; they mostly resolve cold cases which I’ve found no interest in. It’s the rate at which they solve them. It’s alarming. Even I can’t solve things as quickly as them. I’ve yet to figure out how they do it, which is irksome because this is clearly personal.”

“Personal because they’re threatening your reputation or personal because of John?”

Sherlock remained silent.

“Does he know about this?”

Sherlock shook his head. “I highly doubt it. Aside from blogging John’s internet presence is minimal, and the news piece where they received that special commendation from whathisname for the Trafalgar murders wasn’t memorable. And I haven’t been in touch about it.”

“They got a special commendation?”

“From the mayor.” Sherlock’s disdain was palpable. 

For the next hour or so Molly read the tweets in silence and gradually Sherlock unspooled himself from his pout and moved back towards her. Eventually she set the computer aside and stretched, saying, “It’s weird. The only thing they’ve solved that’s really current is the Trafalgar Terror.”

“Well observed, if I hadn’t already told you that.”

“But the only reason Tom knew anything about that is because he had your information. How are they managing if you’re not working on the same cases as them? There aren’t any other consulting detectives to steal from, are there?”

Sherlock’s eyes widened. 

“Molly Hooper, you are brilliant,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “I’ve been looking at this incorrectly. It is personal, but not the way I assumed. Oh this is too good.”

He was up and pacing again. Molly wondered how long it would take him to wear a groove in the floor.

“Are you going to explain what you’ve just figured out?”

“I’d like you to meet my girlfriend.”

“Your-your what?”

At some point since Molly walked into Baker Street she must have been drugged and was now in a frightening hallucinogenic state because she was fairly certain she had just heard and seen Sherlock Holmes say the words “I’d like you to meet my girlfriend.”

“My girlfriend. Janine. She’s quite lovely; rather intelligent in an average sort of way.”

“Are you experiencing Pon Farr?”

“What?”

“Nothing. So the best man and the chief bridesmaid got together after all. How very traditional of you.”

“Don’t be petty. I thought you’d be pleased that I’ve found companionship.”

“No, Sherlock. That’s not companionship. Stealing Janine away from Mary to satisfy your bizarre sense of justice is childish.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Janine is Mary’s best friend. Since Mary has, in your head at least, stolen your best friend, you’ve taken hers as compensation.”

“I’m seeing her because I find her attractive and likeable.”

“Bullshit.” The venom in Molly’s voice surprised both of them. Sherlock stopped pacing and looked down at his feet. 

“Look at me.”

“No.”

Molly was up from the couch and in Sherlock’s personal space before he had a chance to blink. She grabbed his chin with her hand and yanked upwards, forcing him to make the visual connection. His eyes were defiant; hers were steel.

“Mary hasn’t heard from Janine since the wedding. She’s afraid she’s done something wrong to offend her, but she’s too scared to ask.”

“I fail to see how Janine’s poor communication with other people is my fault.”

“She’s fallen off the face of the planet and into the bed of the cleverest man in Britain. Who would call anyone else when they’ve had their knickers charmed off by you? Is the sex that much better, knowing you have that kind of power over her?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Never mind. I don’t want to know what gets you off. To think I ever-“Molly dropped her hand from Sherlock’s face, too disgusted to even touch him. 

“I didn’t start the cycle of stealing friends.”

“Mary didn’t steal John from you Sherlock,” Molly said quietly. “I know it feels that way, but that’s not what happened. You left. And I understand why you left, and I helped you, but you didn’t see the aftermath of what your death did to John. It annihilated him. And all you had to do was give him a hint, a sign that you were actually fine. Some hope that you would come back to him. But you didn’t, so he did what he had to do. Don’t punish him or Mary for it.”

“You should leave now.”

Sherlock walked into his bedroom and shut the door and Molly didn’t follow him to try and say goodbye. She quietly gathered her things and left, making sure to tread lightly on the stairs so Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t hear her leaving. She didn’t feel like making small talk. She stood on the pavement and hailed a cab; as it was rolling up to the curb she turned and did something she had never before done: She raised her middle finger in a long defiant gesture at Sherlock’s window. He probably hadn’t seen it, but she hoped he had. She slid into the cab, feeling slightly better.

~~~

“Focus Molly!”

The instructions rang out across the room. Molly dropped to the padded floor to avoid a kick by Jane, and her instructor called out again, “Better. Switch! Vashti and Lola, you’re in!” 

Molly and Jane moved off the floor as two other women replaced them. The room at the Molly’s gym where she took her defense classes was large and open, and did not smell like gym, which was one of Molly’s primary reasons for taking classes there. It always smelled vaguely vanilla-y, which she didn’t understand but enjoyed anyway. She walked over to the row of benches and grabbed a water bottle out of her bag holding it up to her sweaty face even though it had lost most of its coolness. Class broke a few minutes later and as Molly was stretching out, her instructor came over.

“Is everything alright?”

“I had an argument with a friend earlier. It’s nothing.”

“Huh. Normally people are more focused and aggressive after an argument.”

“I came in early and took it out on the treadmill.”

“Jane probably thanks you for that.”

Her instructor turned and dismissed class and wished Molly well in solving her argument troubles, and Molly thanked her. She was still stretching when the next class began to file into the room. Molly stood and winced; Jane had landed some good blows and it was likely bruises were already forming. She hated that she bruised so easily. The next class seemed to be some sort of yoga as the women coming in were all carrying mats, and Molly grabbed up her bag and started to leave so she wouldn’t be in their way.

“Wait!” A voice called out behind her. “You don’t have to leave cause you forgot your mat. I always bring extra."

“No, I’m not-“Molly started to say, turning to face the woman, then stopped abruptly as the woman turned out to be Janine.

“Hey, I know you don’t I?” She asked and Molly replied, “We met at John and Mary Watson’s wedding.”

“Right!” Janine smiled. “You had the cute bow in your hair. I’m sorry; I don’t remember your name.”

“Molly. Molly Hooper.”

Janine gasped. “So you’re the famous Molly Hooper. Sherl never shuts up about you. Sometimes I think he fancies you more than me.”

“I can assure you that’s not the case.”

“Oh come off, I’m teasing. So you’re not staying for my class?” Janine made an exaggerated pout. 

“I just finished my self-defense class.”

“Right. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone do defense in yoga bottoms.”

Molly looked down at her stretched black bottoms. Those paired with her bare feet did make it seem like she was around for meditation rather than beating the shit out of her friends. 

“It’s just what I had clean. Have you always taught yoga here?”

“Yep. I used to teach morning classes but my boss asked me to start coming in earlier so I switched with another instructor. I wish I could teach full time, but it doesn’t pay well enough. I adore yoga. That feeling of stretching yourself into nothingness? There’s nothing like it. You should come back sometime. I teach a beginner’s class on Tuesdays.”

“Sounds fun. I’m just going to-“Molly started to beg off but Janine began again, “We should go for drinks! We can meet up after I’m finished if you’re not busy. I’m dying to get to know all of Sherl’s friends.”

Molly hesitated. Isn’t this exactly what she hadn’t wanted to do? And now Janine was conveniently at her gym, almost in her class, enthusiastic to hang out? Sherlock would be getting an earful about this, but she didn’t want to be rude.

“Sure. Sounds lovely.”

“Great!”

They exchanged numbers and Janine tucked her phone into her bra as she turned to address her class, which had set out their mats and were waiting in prayer posture. As Molly showered and changed in the women’s locker room all she could think was, “Sherl?”

Drinks with Janine turned out to be actual drinks and not beet kale smoothies as Molly had suspected they might be. Instead she had met Janine at a funky little bar in Camden. It looked a bit like a bakery: fairy lights, wood stained tables with brightly colored chairs, checkerboard floor. The obvious difference was the giant bar in the center of the room, with its bottles of alcohol neatly lined behind it. Janine greeted the bar hand with practiced familiarity, asking after cats and nephews. She led Molly to a table in the back and sat down, legs sprawled out in front of her.

“Is this your regular place?” Molly asked.

“Yeah. I used to come here more often but Sherlock hates it so I’m always looking for other people to drag here.”

“It doesn’t really seem like a bar.”

“That’s ‘cause the woman who owns it used to bake cakes for a living.”

“That’s a strange switch. How’d she go from bakery to bar?”

“Her booze tastes better than her bread? Hell if I know. She makes up a new story whenever anyone asks.”

Janine’s drink was a cocktail called Exploding Carrot Dick. Two of these appeared on the table in short order in penis shaped glasses with orange straws and the bar hand told Molly she could keep her glass since it was her first time having one. She took a sip through an orange straw and exclaimed, “It tastes like carrot cake!”

“Isn’t it great?”

“Carrot cake is the most underrated of all cakes.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

They were one cocktail in and Molly was feeling pleasantly buzzed. She had always been a lightweight and the cocktails were strong. She said to Janine, “I don’t understand why Sherlock doesn’t like it here.”

“I think he thinks it’s too girly; cake drinks and all that.”

“Well, I think you should forget him. You should live here just to spite him. He can get over it.”

“Is that the tact you take with your boyfriends?”

The words spilled out of Molly’s mouth before she had time to try and stop them: “My last boyfriend smacked me in the face and vandalized my new shed with the word cunt. I wouldn’t say tact with men is my strong suit.”

Janine went from giggly to concerned. “Wait, seriously?”

Molly nodded loosely and thought, “Woooow, do you just hand out intimate details to strangers now? Are your life stories Smarties? Slow down girl.”

“I am so sorry,” Janine said, bringing her back to the present conversation. 

“S’fine.”

“Men. It’s such a grab bag y’know?”

“I think you mean people.”

“True. Horribleness isn’t exclusive to peen. Just take Sherl, he’s brilliant.”

“Sherlock Holmes is an idiot.” Molly’s tipsy declaration set them both giggling again.

“Do dish.”

“Did you know he didn’t know that the Earth went ‘round the Sun?”

“I thought that was a joke!”

“Noooooo. He also once got his hand stuck in his fireplace trying to open the flue. He had to foot-dial me to come help get him out.”

Janine cracked up, her breathy laughter dissolving into gasps and Molly may have snorted. 

“Oh god, tell me more.”

The rest of the night passed this way, Molly telling stories about all the silly things Sherlock had done, with Janine occasionally chiming in with one or two funny things that had happened since she had begun seeing him. It hardly seemed possible that last order was already being called, and Molly was much drunker than she realized. She and Janine shared a cab home and before Janine got out she made them pinky swear to be friends even if things with Sherlock didn’t work out. Molly wasn’t sure how she made it into her flat; she dropped her keys twice and nearly forgot to re-set the alarm code, but she passed out on the sofa, penis glass in hand, argument with Sherlock long forgotten.  
~~~

Mycroft:  
 _It didn’t work._  
Sherlock wanted to throw his phone though the window, wanted to hear the shattering onto the street below which would hopefully embed itself into tires of passing cars giving them flats. The idea soothed his rage, and he would’ve done it except he needed his phone and he didn’t want to wake Hudders. He viciously dialed Mycroft’s number and said, “Explain.”

“The tip went to Scotland Yard as planned. Lestrade organized the bust, but when they searched Tom and David’s house they didn’t find cocaine. They found icing sugar.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Of course.

“Your men aren’t as clever as they claim. They obviously allowed someone to sneak in and replace the drugs.”

“Or your homeless network tampered with them and we never had real cocaine to begin.”

“Impossible. My network is loyal to me, and I checked the drugs closely myself before they went out.”

“Not too closely I hope.”

Sherlock didn’t dignify that with a response and Mycroft pressed. 

“Sherlock?”

“Don’t start.”

“Fine. The point remains that the plan failed and now Scotland Yard looks immensely foolish.”

“That’s nothing new.”

“Quite.”

Mycroft sounded like he wanted to say something else so Sherlock clicked off before he got the chance. He tossed his phone on the desk and padded silently to the bedroom. He looked at the sleeping form in his bed, and crawled in next to Janine, taking care not to disturb her. He lay awake for hours, hands steepled under his chin. There was no way around it. Plan B was now Plan A. Sherlock hoped he had laid enough groundwork for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those not in the know: Pon Farr is the Vulcan mating ritual which is said to take place every seven years (as established in Star Trek: The Original Series).


	5. Fifteen Minutes- After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly runs a drug test on Sherlock. She's not pleased with the results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've used parts of the dialogue from the lab scene in HLV. I do not claim credit for that dialogue. Moffat wrote it; it belongs to him.

Molly was already at Bart’s for an early shift when the call came in from John.

“Sherlock Holmes needs to pee in a jar.”

Eight words. Limited possibilities and none of them promising. Clearly John suspected Sherlock of being under the influence of something and it was going to be up to Molly to confirm or deny. Several thoughts rushed through her head in rapid succession while she searched for the appropriate sample cup and readied her equipment. When had John seen Sherlock? Had they talked, or was John too caught up in his suspicions about the drugs? Did Janine know? Janine. She and Janine had been doing a lot of texting after their night out last week and they’d even met up for lunch once since then. 

“Can I see where you work?” Janine had asked when making the plans and since it was easier for Molly to eat at Bart’s she had agreed. 

“I’ve never seen a morgue before,” she had said upon arrival. From the observation platform she observed, wide eyed at the sterile room below where the bodies were kept. “It’s a bit morbid, but terribly exciting.”

Molly had given her the quick version of the tour because she was hungry and because she wasn’t actually supposed to allow unofficial people back into the morgue/lab. At some point Sherlock had made an agreement with her boss so he wasn’t considered unofficial. Molly was leading Janine to the canteen when Janine stopped her and said, “Let’s eat on the roof.”

“The roof?”

The roof had become a place of many unpleasant memories, mostly symbolic to Molly. She hadn’t been outside the day Sherlock fell, so she never had the exact visualization of what happened, but she was still uncomfortable visiting the spot that contained so many emotions. Had Jim’s blood pooled and left a stain that the London rain was unable to wash away? Jim Moriarty. Molly thought she might vomit. 

“Come on, it’ll be fun! Think of the view.”

“Yes,” thought Molly. “Think of the view and the invisible presence of John. Imagine him, standing there, miniscule, with a look of horror on his face as he witnesses one of the worst things to ever happen to him. Watch him plod in shock to the broken pavement below the building. Feel the guilt because you helped place such a wonderful man into heartbreak.”

“I’d rather not. I have a thing about heights.” Molly said aloud.

“Awww, you’re no fun!”

Molly was jarred back into the present by voices in the corridor outside the lab. Sherlock’s baritone was whining, “It’s for a case!” John snorted in disgust, and Mary was soothing a stranger who kept proclaiming, “I _really_ don’t think it’s supposed to be that squishy.” Good grief, John had brought along a party. Molly was relieved no one else was in at the early hour. 

Sherlock was roughly shoved into the lab; he looked terrible. His baggy grey sweatpants looked stained and unwashed, much like Sherlock himself. He was covered in grime, hair limp and greasy, and looked slightly dead behind the eyes. It was now very clear to Molly why John had called her. “How long has this been going on?” she thought, irritation building up inside. John spied the urine jar on the table, snapped it up and dragged Sherlock off to the toilets, passing Mary who had finally managed to cajole squishy man through the door. He looked equally dirty as Sherlock and something was wrong with his wrist. 

“Where do you keep your bandages?” Mary asked.

“Supply closet, end of the corridor. Middle shelf.”

“Thanks.”

Mary left to get the bandages and Molly was left for a moment with dirty squishy man. He was silent and she barely registered his existence. She was solely focused on the man in the toilets. Mary returned soft cloth in hand and began examining the man’s wrist. He winced a number of times, all in exaggeration. John and Sherlock entered a few minutes later, John still fuming. He passed the jar to Molly and she set to work. It was remarkable what one could determine about a person through their bodily fluids, but Molly was only concerned about one thing: The residual signs of substances strictly forbidden to consulting detectives. 

And there it was. Positive. Sherlock Holmes, always the addict. Molly’s eye was still on the microscope lens but she wasn’t focused. A black fog was filling up her head, swelling, crashing, until all she could feel was the vibration of her own rage. Traitor. User. Violated. Outwardly Molly was calm.

“Well, is he clean?” John’s voice seemed to echo and it took her a second to divine the meanings behind his speech.

“Clean?” 

Molly took two efficient steps to where Sherlock was standing, pouting. Always pouting, even now, when he had caused this! The rage inside Molly broke, and she struck Sherlock. Hard. And again. She was vaguely aware of a gasp; the Watsons were probably looking at her in shock, but Sherlock just stood there passively accepting the blows to his face. She struck him once more for good measure.

“How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with. And how dare you betray the love of your friends! Say you’re sorry.”

Sherlock flexed his face rotated his neck and retorted, “Sorry your engagement’s over. Though I’m fairly grateful for the lack of a ring.”

“Stop it. Just stop it.”

John was speaking now but Molly fell into herself. Lack of a ring? No shit! He knew precisely the day the engagement had ended. Everyone in the room did, save for the wrist man. What had been the point in saying that? Molly assumed he had meant it as a distraction… Throw everyone off by thinking about Tom again and maybe some of the anger in the room would dissipate. What was more likely, she realized, was that Sherlock had wanted to hurt her, so he drudged up the worst thing about her he could remember on his high. He never would have said something like that if he was sober. They were discussing transportation now, but all Molly wanted to do was throw Sherlock’s urine jar at him. He wanted to hurt her? Mission accomplished. Ass. Pathetic ass. 

Molly got off shift at two, which was good because she couldn’t really remember what she had done for the remainder of the day since Watsons and Co. had departed. She kept replaying Sherlock’s words over in her head, “Sorry your engagement’s over.” Sarcastic. Unforgiving. “Is this what hatred feels like?” Molly wondered. The black fog in her head hadn’t burned off. It was still roiling around, angry, waiting to strike at someone else. If anyone tried to mug Molly on the way home she’d probably kill them. She hung up her lab coat and retrieved her black pea coat and gold and black crocheted scarf from her office. She nodded goodbye to her co-workers who had given her a wide berth all day. No one had seen sweet Molly Hooper in such a state. She was beyond ready to be done with the day, despite it only being the afternoon. She walked down a corridor deciding she’d take Richmond for a long walk then curl up in bed with tomato soup and a grilled ham and cheese. She wouldn’t leave the house for the rest of the day, and she’d let all calls go to voicemail. She walked through the back door and a familiar head of curls greeted her. 

She didn’t say a word to Sherlock, just marched right by him with as much indifference she could muster. He reached out to touch her, but thought better of it and settled for walking behind her silently. They walked this way for a few minutes, and Molly thought about throwing him off by entering one of the cafes and climbing through one of the bathroom windows, but really she just wanted to be home. She wanted him to go away. They were almost to Molly’s flat when Sherlock said, “This is ridiculous. You can’t avoid me when I’m right behind you.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“But I have things to say to you.”

“Unless they’re things about you going to rehab…”

“I am not using again!”

Sherlock’s outburst caused Molly to stop walking and face him. Several people around them stopped as well and glanced at the couple having a spat, but in true British politeness they looked away again quickly. 

“The science doesn’t support your statement.”

Molly’s voice was quiet, cold, and Sherlock wondered if that’s how he sounded to other people. She started walking again, and he jogged to catch up, coming along beside her. 

“Might I at least have a chance to explain myself?”

“Is there really something to explain?”

He nodded earnestly, so she didn’t stop him from opening the front gate when they reached her flat. 

“I’m not making you any tea,” she said, walking past him to open the door.

~~~

“I had to let him think he knew my pressure point. It was simple misdirection, that’s all, and I think it worked since he came and pissed in my fireplace about four and a half hours ago.”

Sherlock was sitting cross-legged on the scratchy chair in the sitting room. It was one of his punishments, and he took it with grace. He was waving his hands about animatedly which was something he did when he was excited. Richmond lay at the base of the chair, watching his hands hoping he’d drop some sort of treat since Molly’s guest usually gave him nice things when they were over. 

“So Lady Smallwood needed your help getting these illicit letters and that’s why you had to get high?”

“Oh, but it’s not just about Lady Smallwood.”

Sherlock cracked a toothy grin, but dropped it abruptly when he realized Molly didn’t follow.

“Molly, it was your idea!”

“I distinctly do not remember telling you drug use was a good idea.”

“No. Someone with widespread access to endless amounts of knowledge, feeding it to lowly peons.”

“Wait, you think Magnussen is the one helping Tom and David solve all those cases? Why?”

“It’s a logical conclusion. Magnussen wishes to test me, to find out if my vanity is one of my pressure points so he sets up a rival team of crime-solvers. He doesn’t give them anything big enough to actually cause a rivalry, but enough to see how I’ll respond. They can’t refuse him because he has information on both of them, and after they start getting attention they have no desire. If I hadn’t been working on my own trap for Magnussen I would have probably noticed sooner. Your comments were remarkably helpful though so now we are onto their scheme.”

Magnussen was blackmailing Tom and David. It seemed terribly anticlimactic. 

“You don’t seem pleased by this information.”

“I’m not displeased. I just, don’t really care.”

“You don’t care that I’ve unmasked your ex for the sham that he is and that once I’ve destroyed Magnussen he’ll vanish back into non-existence? You’ll never have to think about him again.”

“Until today I’m pretty sure you’ve been thinking about him more than I have.”

“Have you so easily forgotten the violation of your personal space that made all this security necessary?” Sherlock gestured around.

“I haven’t forgotten. But I don’t really actively think about Tom, unless someone brings up the engagement.” 

Sherlock’s hands dropped limply to his sides. “I--” he began.

“Don’t speak. I’m pleased you figured everything out, but I’m not going to let it slide. What you said to me today was inexcusable. You’ve said horrible, horrible things to me before, but I understood they were mostly out of ignorance. This wasn’t.”

Sherlock stood and took a tentative step forward, but Molly stepped back, arms crossed over her chest.

“I acted abhorrently.”

“Yes, you did.”

“It won’t happen again. Ever.”

“I think you should leave now.”

Sherlock recognized his own words being thrown back at him, but he didn’t argue. He nodded once, curtly, turned his coat collar up and walked to the door. His hand was on the knob, the door was opening, he was going to leave, but he looked back, contrition filling his face.

“Please forgive me, Molly Hooper.”

A memory of full lips on cheek, grazing warmly in the dim light of a Christmas party so many years ago. Molly’s arms stayed crossed.

“It’s not that simple this time, Sherlock.”

The door closed; silence settled in the flat. Richmond looked at Molly as she pulled out a can of tomato soup.


	6. Two Hours- Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly tries to go about the rest of her day after Sherlock leaves. Things don't work out that well for her.

After Sherlock left, Molly attempted to complete the mental list she had made for her day before he had followed her home from Bart’s. She ate her soup and sandwich (on the sofa instead of in bed), and was fifteen minutes into her walk with Richmond when the black fog turned into a shocking pain. The migraine burned and blurred her vision making it difficult for her to see as she dragged Richmond home. 

“I’m sorry.” She told him. “I promise we’ll finish another day.”

Four extra strength ibuprofen and a glass of water later, Molly was lying curled on her side in her queen sized bed. The curtains were shut and the lights were off but it was still too bright for her sensitive eyes, so she pulled her purple duvet up over her head. Much better. She was asleep a few minutes later.

Molly Hooper has three main reoccurring nightmares. In the first one she is drugged, abducted, and wakes up tied to the tracks of the Underground. A train is always headed straight at her and she never has a way to escape. The second one is Tom breaking into her house and stabbing her repeatedly with the bloody meat dagger he left against her shed. Sherlock dying is the third. It’s always a similar scenario: She finds out that Sherlock has been mortally wounded and there’s nothing she can do to save him. 

Tom has broken into her flat while she’s asleep. Contorted grin on his face he slowly pulls down Molly’s duvet. He’s holding the meat dagger aloft. She starts awake, screams, and flees to the toilet before he can stick her with the dagger. She locks the door, and pushes the medicine chest up against it for added security. She can’t understand how he got in without tripping the alarm. She notices her phone in her hand, and hits the speed dial button for Sherlock. He doesn’t usually take calls, but she’s hoping he’ll somehow sense the emergency behind this one. 

“Molly?”

Blessed, merciful, god, Sherlock has picked up.

“Tom. In the flat.” She doesn’t bother with complete sentences.

“Armed?”

“Yes. Trapped–” Molly sees the door shudder; Tom is trying to smash his way in. “—in the loo.”

“I’m coming.”

It doesn’t occur to Molly to call emergency services; Sherlock is coming and somehow that’s enough. She looks around the tiny room, searching for something with which to arm herself. Defense classes are helpful, something sharp even more so. She finds a nail file; it’ll have to do. The door is still shuddering, hinges squeaking but if Tom’s panting is anything to go by he’ll have to take a break soon. Suddenly there’s a whoomph noise and the door stands still. There’s crashing and grunts and shouts, but Molly can’t make sense of what’s going on without seeing anything. Then, silence. Molly opens the door and cautiously sticks her head out, crouching so she’s not at a normal height. She sneaks down the stairs and stifles a cry at the sight in front of her.

Sherlock is kneeling in front of the coffee table, white knuckled hands grasping it in a death hold. He’s attempting to keep from falling over, trying to stand to get to her, warn her about something. There’s a deep laceration across his neck; bright rivers of blood flow from it freely staining his white dress shirt and the carpet below. He’s moving his lips, clearly meaning to form words but no sound comes out. A bubble of blood bursts in his open mouth, he slumps onto the table and stills. Molly isn’t aware of her movement but suddenly she’s beside him, kneeling, pulling his lifeless form to her. She sits there rocking them together, his blood rubbing onto her, whispering, “It’s going to be alright. It has to be alright,” when a sharp pain cuts through her shoulder. Another pain in her back. The last thing she hears is Tom’s mad laugher; she feels the cloth against her nose and knows no more. She wakes up tied to the tracks, a horn is blaring and the engine noise is unbearable in such close proximity. She can’t move. She’s going to die.

Richmond’s deep throated growl blasted through the nightmare, pulling Molly into consciousness. She sat up, panting, touching her arms and face to orient herself. Having comprehended a voice coming from downstairs Molly panicked for a moment, thinking it to be Tom or Sherlock, but the voice was foreign to her, and female. Molly walked downstairs and heard the voice coming from the mail slot saying, “Just came to check on you.” She unlocked and opened the door, Richmond growling all the while. 

“Shush you.”

Standing in the door was a middle aged woman with short black hair and a concerned expression. Her oversized dressing gown with owls hung on her frame.

“Sorry,” Molly said, “I was asleep. What were you saying?”

“Oh I just came down to see if you were okay. I live above you see, and heard you yelling and crying like someone had taken you hostage or something. My wife said leave it be but I came down anyway. Your dog was pacing and growling; he almost bit me when I opened the mail slot to call out to you. I don’t blame him of course. I was about to call the police.”

“No, I’m fine. Horrific nightmare. I’m alright now though. Thank you for checking on me, that’s quite neighborly. Sorry about Richmond, he’s a bit protective.”

“That’s perfectly fine. He’s a good dog for looking out after his best friend.”

“That he is, Mrs…?”

“Maddox. Call me Bel though.”

“I’m Molly. Hooper.”

“Lovely to meet you. Fine way to do introductions though, and you’ve been living here so long. I’m ashamed.”

“It’s alright. Maybe you and your wife could come round for a cuppa and we’ll do introductions properly.”

“I’d like that very much. We’ll arrange something. Tomorrow though. It’s a bit late for me.”

“Of course. What time is it?”

“Nearly ten.”

“I had no idea.”

“Mmmm, nightmares will have that effect. I’m off now. See you soon, Molly.”

“Goodnight, Bel.”

Molly shut the door, yawned, and stretched. Almost ten? There was no way she’d get back to sleep now. She set the kettle going and sat down on the sofa, clicking on the telly. Maybe there was a panel show marathon on; she had developed a fondness for QI. She clicked past a special bulletin on BBC News, but something about it felt wrong. She clicked back and turned up the volume. 

“We’ve just received word that famous Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes is in critical condition after being shot in the chest during an attempted robbery earlier this evening. Holmes is native to London…”

The news anchor was still speaking but Molly was far away. She was back in a nightmare. This had to be an extension of the one from before. She was going to text Sherlock and he was going to be snarky and fine. Just fine, and hopefully still after forgiveness. Wake up, wake up, wake up. She still had to finish her fight with him and make nice. What if now she never got the chance? The tears came then, hot and fast running down her face and dripping onto her work shirt, which she had never bothered to change out of. He couldn’t die. He was practically immortal. She looked around for her phone, spying it on the counter next to the stove where the kettle was now screaming at her. She turned off the burner and moved the kettle. She picked up her phone and dialed Mary. Voicemail. She dialed John. Voicemail. Janine. Voicemail. Lestrade definitely wasn’t going to pick up at a time like this so she didn’t even bother to try him. She needed information; knowledge that would calm her and tell her Sherlock was going to pull through. What if he died and they made her do the work on his body at Bart’s? His body at Bart’s? Oh lord. Molly started crying again, this time gasping sobs accompanied. She’d probably upset Mrs. Maddox again. Molly wasn’t proud of what she did next, but she knew she didn’t want to be alone. She gave Richmond a treat, told him to be good, set the alarm, and walked upstairs to Mrs. Maddox’s flat. She knocked quietly. What was she even doing, bothering strangers this late? She was about to turn around and go back downstairs when Bel opened the door. 

“Molly?” she asked, confused. “I thought we decided to plan tea tomorrow?”

“It’s not that. Um, did you see the news?”

“About that Holmes boy? Bloody awful isn’t it? I like him. Never actually met him of course.”

“I have. Actually, he’s my friend and I can’t get a hold of anyone who can tell me how he is.” Molly mentally scolded herself for crying again but Bel immediately exclaimed, “You poor thing! Come in at once. I’ll get you a beer; tea isn’t nearly strong enough for this circumstance. Nat!” she called behind her while pulling Molly into the flat, “That nice girl from downstairs is staying with us tonight. She knows that detective chappy and she’s a proper mess!”

For some reason that made Molly laugh. She was a proper mess. 

“Come in and have a sit down.”

Bel Maddox and Nat soon introduced as Natalie LeClaire sat up with Molly for the rest of the night. When it was clear the news had no new information on Sherlock’s situation they switched over to re-runs of a show called Bomb Girls. Molly kept calling everyone but no one answered. She woke up to her phone buzzing around six am, unaware that she had dozed off. It was John.

“Molly, I’m sorry for not getting back to you sooner. Things have been absolutely mental here.”

“Is he alright?”

“Yes. He just woke up. He’s on quite a lot of morphine, but he’s going to be fine.”

“Oh thank god.”

Natalie and Bel poked their heads in from the kitchen and she gave them a thumb’s up. They clapped and started cheering.

“Are you with someone?”

“Huh? Oh, my neighbors. I stayed with them last night after I saw the news and couldn’t get in touch with anyone.”

“Right. Look, he’s still pretty groggy right now, but I reckon it’ll be alright if you stopped by to see him tomorrow. If you want to.”

“Perfect. I’ve got work today so I’ll see if I can find him some sort of present while I’m there.”

John laughed. “Only Sherlock would want a present from a morgue. I’ll talk to you later.”

Molly took a few deep breaths. Sherlock was going to be fine. The nightmare was over. 

Or perhaps not. Molly invited Bel and Natalie downstairs for an early celebratory breakfast which was the least she could do after they let her worry the night away with them. But as soon as Molly stepped onto the stairs she could tell something was wrong. The light from her hall was shining out into the corridor. She took the steps two at a time then, Bel and Nat following quickly. 

The door to Molly’s flat had been pried open viciously; splintered wood littered the entryway. The lens of the camera above her door was painted over and when Molly stepped in she saw that the lines connecting the alarm system had been cut. The flat was trashed. Her knives had been thrown randomly at walls and furniture, and the contents of her kitchen drawers now laid on the floor where someone had stomped on them repeatedly. Cushions were torn open, fluff spilling out and forming little drifts in corners, the telly was smashed, and someone had dragged the entire contents of her underwear drawer downstairs to serve as tissues for a mess Molly didn’t want to acknowledge. The sticky seed that hadn’t been wiped on her underwear was spread on her rose rug. Everywhere, in thick black spray paint was the message that had been on her shed. 

**DID YOU MISS ME?**  
Molly noted the absence of the word cunt. 

“This is appalling!” Bel said, walking up behind her. “Where’s Richmond?”

Oh no. Not Richmond. They frantically searched for him, finally finding him locked in the upstairs toilet. He was unconscious. Bel knelt down and checked his pulse. “It looks like he’s been given a sedative, but he’s breathing normally. He’ll come to in a while.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m a veterinarian, dear.”

Nat poked her head in the door, brown curls obscuring her face. “Get what you need packed quickly. We’re getting out of here. Bel, make sure you remember everything you’ve touched so we can give an accurate report to the police later. Call them as soon as you’re back upstairs.”

Molly put together a bag as directed, mentally reminded herself to go buy new underwear, and Natalie hefted Richmond easily despite the fact that he was almost half her size. They went back upstairs where Natalie deposited Richmond and said, “Lock the door and call the police. Tell them I’m keeping an eye on the place until they get here.”

“You’re so calm,” Molly said. “Does this not faze you at all?”

“I defected from the KGB.” Natalie replied. The serious tone in her voice left Molly with no doubt she was telling the truth.

~~~

The police arrived not long after they were called, Sgt. Donovan leading them into Molly’s flat. She expressed her sympathies and promised to find out who had broken in as soon as possible.

Molly was almost certainly going to be late for work so she dressed hurriedly and left Richmond in the capable hands of Bel. She certainly lived near some interesting people, Molly thought as she half walked, half jogged to work. The break-in had shaken her down to her core but she was determined to put it aside and focus on finding a gift for Sherlock. Her relief for his safety hadn’t lessened in the slightest. She checked her duty roster for the day. She was going to be cataloguing blood samples. Excellent.

Molly thought about how what she was doing would probably get her fired if anyone found out, but she cared not a whit as she made her third illegal blood sample slide. Sherlock would probably appreciate them all the more because of their contraband status. Mary finally called Molly back while she was at lunch and Molly filled her in on the break-in. 

“So he left his spunk cooling on your rug and drugged your dog? Bastard!”

“We don’t know it’s Tom.”

Mary snorted. “Who else would it be? Anyway, we’ll know soon enough. What moron leaves a jizz sample at a crime scene? Do you need to stay over?”

“No, thanks. I’m staying with my neighbors until everything gets cleaned up and someone can put a new system in.”

“They would be the prestigious vet and the ex-spy?”

“That’s right.”

“I’d love to meet them. The stories they could tell.”

“I’m sure you’ll get the opportunity. Hey, have you been by to see Sherlock yet? When John called he was at hospital and I assumed you were with him.”

“I stepped in to see him briefly. He wasn’t really coherent.” Mary suddenly seemed evasive. “Oof, Molly? I think I’m going to be sick. Can I ring you back later?”

“Sure.” 

The word was barely out of her mouth when the line went dead. That was odd.

It would be a week before someone could come replace Molly’s security system so Nat and Bel made up the bed in their spare room. “You stay as long as you want,” Natalie said. “Someone’s got it out for you bad.” Tomorrow was a day off, a day to visit Sherlock and Molly lay down in the strange bed, hand dangling off the side brushing against Richmond’s fur. She was asleep instantly, and slept the way only the exhausted can manage.

~~~

Sherlock Day. Now that Molly was standing outside his hospital room she wasn’t sure if she could go in. Not because she was worried he’d be mad at her, but because she was worried she’d still be mad at him. She’d didn’t want to be the person who was mad at someone in a hospital bed. She knocked tentatively and heard “For god’s sake don’t be a mouse about it Nurse!” Well, clearly he was fine. Molly opened the door and stood quietly. Sherlock may have sounded fine but it was strange to see him shirtless and confined with tubes sticking out of him. He was also quite pale.

“You’re not a nurse.”

“Ah, no.”

“What are you standing in the doorway for? Sit down.” He nodded to a chair. Molly approached and sat, hand in her coat pocket fingering the slides.

“I’ve brought you something. Sort of a little get well thing.”

She pulled out the slides and placed them in his hands. He examined them gleefully.

“I should get shot more often if it means you’ll bring me presents like this.”

Molly laughed but said, “That’s not funny.”

“What really isn’t funny is the way we left things. I truly apologize for the things I said to you. I’m not a kind man, but what I did was especially unkind.”

“You aren’t kind. But you are good, and none of it matters now.”

“You mean that.”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

“I was half afraid you’d come to finish the job the bullet started.” He smiled.

“If I wanted to kill you,” Molly said, “I wouldn’t do it in a cushy room.”

“Thank god.”

“So the news said you were shot during a robbery. Were you the one being robbed or the one doing the robbing?”

“You never miss a trick.”

“I learned from the best.”

Sherlock chuckled. “It’s a rather long story.”

“I’ve got all day,” Molly said, settling in.


	7. Two Hours and Four Minutes- Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary comes clean about her past.

“Hoops need to speak with you, its urgent. Call me back please.”

“Molly, its Mary again. Still need to talk to you.”

“Pick up your mobile please.”

“Are you at work? If you aren’t at work and you’re not dying I’m going to be seriously agitated that you haven’t called me back.”

Molly sat in the canteen listening to Mary’s increasingly desperate voicemails. She was on a late dinner break though her appetite was severely diminished. Her last post-mortem before break had been on a particularly nasty auto accident victim. She picked at the tin foil her sandwich was wrapped in and called Mary back.

“Not dead then.”

“But at work.”

“You’re forgiven.”

Molly was in no mood for attitude. “Well, nice talking with you too. Should I call again later when you’ve passed the stick that’s currently up your ass?”

“Sorry?”

“You’re being. Very. Rude.”

“Apologies. I’m feeling a bit…pressured. Can I come down and talk with you?”

“Phone’s not good enough?”

“No.”

“Are you going to be mean?”

“No.”

“Then yes.”

Mary quick-stepped down the canteen stairs about fifteen minutes later. Her coat swished about her legs and she didn’t bother to remove it as she pulled out and sat in the chair across from Molly. 

“I’d like to say, again, that I’m sorry for being brusque. Sherlock’s disappeared from hospital and we’re trying to track him down.”

“Disappeared. Why?”

“Who knows. Greg and John went in to take a gag video of him and he wasn’t there.”

“Do you think Magnussen abducted him?”

“Honestly? I think Sherlock is being Sherlock for whatever reason he decides to be Sherlock. Hoops, I need you to tell me. Does he ever stay with you when he goes into hiding like this?”

Molly picked up her disposable cup of coffee and sipped it.

“Your silence is telling me yes.”

“Just a spare bedroom. Well, my bedroom. We agreed he needs the space.”

She stared at her cup, embarrassed. Mary nodded.

“Thanks Hoops.”

“We haven’t had that- arrangement for ages though. Not since he came back anyway.”

Mary nodded again. “Look, I need to keep working on finding him. I have a couple more people to talk to. Would you be terribly angry with me if I rushed off?”

“Of course not. I’m off break in five minutes anyway. Let me know when you find him?”

“Absolutely.”

Mary stood and squeezed Molly’s shoulder. “You’re a good friend my dear.”

Molly smiled over her coffee cup as Mary departed, but her smile quickly dissolved into confusion. Mary wasn’t one to dole out needless platitudes. What wasn’t she saying?

 _Molly:_  
 _Mary just asked me if you’ve ever stayed with me. Told her you used my bedroom pre-fall. Didn’t mention the lab you currently have in the shed._

_Sherlock:_  
 _Thank you._

_Molly:_   
_Is everything alright?_

_Sherlock:_   
_Assuredly not._

_Molly:_   
_Are you in immediate danger?_

_Sherlock:_   
_Always._

_Molly:_   
_Oh you._

~~~

“Whoever is incessantly banging on my door at this hour is asking for a kick in the pants.” thought Natalie as she got up from her bed to answer the door. Thank God Bel slept like the dead or she’d probably be shouting abuse at the knocker. She passed what she had come to think of as Molly’s room and stopped short of opening the door. She squinted through the people, hand feeling for the kitchen knife she kept taped discreetly in the umbrella stand. Natalie didn’t like surprises and she never knew when a nasty one was going to pop up from her life pre-Bel. Her suspicion that had kept her alive in the old days was not something that died out. She recoiled at the sight of the person standing outside. How had they found her? Instinct told her to grab the knife, open the door and make a quick kill, but caution told her that the building was already under more police surveillance since the attack on Molly. A murder charge would not go down well with her record. She opened the door. “You,” she said.

“Hi.”

“Come to try and kill me again?”

“Still collecting information for corrupt organizations?”

“No.”

“Then we’ll leave the murder for another time, yeah? You can put your ‘secret’ knife away. I’m here to see Molly.”

“What is a nice girl like that doing hanging out with someone like you?”

“She’s part of my rehabilitation therapy. Good influences and all that, y’know.”

“Your snark isn’t amusing.”

“Neither is your cock-blocking. I just need to see Molly.”

Natalie stepped aside to let her acquaintance in. She pointed to Molly’s room and said, “Ten minutes, then I want you out. I didn’t start over here just so fuckers like you could come waltzing into my life whenever it pleases you.”

“Ta.”

There was a gentle knocking on Molly’s door. She opened it- “Mary? What are you doing here? You okay?”

“No, actually. Can I come in?”

“Sure.” Molly pulled the door wider, her eyes resting on Natalie as Mary walked past. “Sorry Mary woke you, Nat.”

“Not a problem. I’m back to bed. Enjoy chatting with…Mary.” Mary felt rather than saw Natalie’s raised eyebrow.

Molly shut the door while Mary flopped onto the bed. She started, feeling cold metal slip up her back. She rolled over and felt beneath her, hands seizing on Molly’s iPod and ear buds. The display was lit and paused on David Bowie’s Changes. Mary scrolled through the iPod while Molly watched her from across the room.

“You didn’t come all this way to scroll through my music library.”

“No.” Mary continued scrolling without looking up.

“It must be really bad if you won’t even make eye contact. Did you not find Sherlock?”

“No, we found him. I found him.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I always loved this song.”

“Mary.”

She looked up, eyes glassy like she was doing her best not to cry, but failing. 

“Mary!” Molly repeated, concern obvious. “What is going on?”

“I need to tell you some things. Don’t speak until I’ve got it all out and then you can yell at me, or slap me, or kick me out of your life.”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself a bit.”

Mary laughed but there was no humor in it. She steadied herself on the bed.

“I was the one who shot Sherlock.”

Molly didn’t realize how shocked she looked until she saw Mary’s responding wince. She did her best to resume a neutral facial expression and nodded for Mary to continue.

“Magnussen has information on me that I didn’t want anyone, especially John, to find out. I befriended Janine, who’s his assistant, to get a hold of his schedule so I could break in and steal the information from him. I should’ve anticipated Sherlock employing the same tactic once he found out about Janine, but I didn’t think we’d break in on the same night. There were so many other opportunities. John just said he was helping Sherlock with a case. I got desperate and it made me sloppy.”

Mary paused to make sure Molly was still following along, then continued.

“So there we are in Magnussen’s office, him at my feet behind me, Sherlock in front of me, John in the other room. I couldn’t kill Magnussen, I didn’t want to kill Sherlock, but I couldn’t let him tell John. I took him out, whacked Magnussen a good one over the head and called an ambulance. I knew he’d be alright so I got the hell out of there. I thought things would be okay until Sherlock bolted tonight. I went after him to talk it out, make sure he saw my side of things…he did. He didn’t tell me he brought John along too. God. Why did he do that? We’re both supposed to protect John! That’s what you do for the people you love.”

Then Mary, composed, wonderful Mary burst into full blown sobs. The energy of her cries made her lean forward, her arms hugging her knees as tremors bore through her body. Her noises were guttural, bordering on animalistic. Richmond, who had been sleeping on the floor, woke up and nudged his head under her right arm. He stayed there whining softly in response to her sobbing. Molly still stood on the other side of the room, dumbfounded.

“What is your side of things?”

Mary’s crying continued, but Molly saw her torso expand in an attempt to deepen her breathing. Gradually she calmed down enough to speak again.

“I’m a good person who has done bad things.”

“Your name isn’t really Mary, is it?”

Mary shook her head.

“So not Mary who is good but has done bad things. Do you still do bad things?”

“Only in the bedroom.”

Leave it to Mary to make a sexual joke while she was having one of the most important conversations of her life. She looked up, face set, challenging.

“Do you want to know the intimate details? Which faces haunt me at night because I failed to stop the murderers that ended their lives? Are you dying to know the real stories behind all my scars? Would you like me to tell you my real name?”

Molly padded softly across the room and sat down on the bed next to Mary.

“You did bad things to save people?”

“Absolutely I did.”

Molly nodded. “Then you don’t have to leave.”

“You don’t want to know who I am?”

“I know who you are. You’re my friend.”

The force of Mary’s side hug caught Molly off guard, toppling them onto the bed in a jumble of limbs. They remained there, limbs tangled, not speaking when Natalie opened the door and stuck her head in. “She told you?” she asked Molly.

“Yes.”

“Good. Your ten minutes are up, Mary.”

Mary separated herself from Molly and stood up.

“Where are you going to go?”

“Home, I guess. There isn’t really anywhere else for me to go.”

“Let me pack a bag and I’ll come with you.”

“Are you sure you want to do that, Molly?” Natalie asked as Molly started emptying drawers into her suitcase. “Do you really trust her after everything she’s just told you?”

“With my life.”

Natalie didn’t say any more as Molly quickly finished packing and put Richmond on his leash. The silence in the room was uncomfortable.

“Right,” Molly said. “I’ll come check in in a few days, just so you know I’m not dead.”

“Alright.”

“Tell Bel I said sorry for taking off in the night?”

“I will. I hope you know what you’re doing Molly.” 

“I do. Did you drive?” she asked Mary.

“Uh huh.”

“Perfect. Let’s go Richmond. We’re going to stay with Auntie Mary for a while.”

~~~

“So what’s happening with John?” Molly asked when they had been driving for a little while. 

“I gave him a stick drive with all the information about my past on it. He’ll read it then divorce me. In the meantime, Sherlock’s taken me on as a client so he’ll try to get my sensitive material out of the Appledore vaults.”

“I don’t think John will want a divorce. You’re going to have a baby.”

“What does that matter? I’m the lying, manipulative bitch who shot his best friend.”

“Saved his best friend, you mean.”

“He didn’t see it that way.”

“Then he’s an idiot.”

Mary chuckled. “My John, the idiot. How often is he going to get called that now I wonder?”

“He’s moving back to Baker Street then?”

“I assumed as much. He sure as hell isn’t going to want to stick around the house.”

Mary’s assertion proved to be incorrect however as they pulled up to the house, which appeared to have every light on.

“Blimey John, think of the electric bill.”

“Are you ready?”

“Not at all. Let’s go.”

Molly grabbed her suitcase out of the back while Mary opened the rear passenger door for Richmond. He jumped out and started sniffing around the yard. They walked up to the door and found it ajar. Molly pushed it wider and stepped inside. Amy Winehouse was blasting from a set of speakers in the sitting room. John was stood in the middle of the room, eyes shut, swaying and slurring along to the words. He clutched an oversized and mostly empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s in his left hand.

“Honey, I’m home.” Mary said loudly enough to be heard over the music. John’s eyes snapped open. He leered at Mary.

“Hullo _wife_. Come to torment me some more?”

“I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“I’m jus packing. Then I’m- gone.”

John stumbled forward on the word ‘gone’. Molly dropped her suitcase handle and darted forward to catch him. He leaned heavily on her while she helped him stand upright again.

“This is packing?” she asked.

“I’m packing the alcohol first.” It took him a minute to realize who Molly was. His eyes widened and he whispered loudly, “Did she tell you what she is, Molly? Did she tell you she’s a liar?”

“I’m going to go pack him an actual bag,” Mary interrupted, then headed upstairs.

“Noooo, don’t touch my thingies you!”

“Yes John, she told me.” Molly said, mostly to distract him so Mary could sneak upstairs to pack for him.

“And you’re still with her?”

“Yes.”

John shook his head. “Mully, Molly Mools Hooper. Didn’t take you for a traitor.”

“Everyone lies, John.”

“I. Don’t.”

He pulled away from her and stumbled toward the window. Molly followed him, standing silently next to him while they gazed out the window. A black town car pulled up to the curb, causing John to laugh. “Bloody Holmeses. Bloody Mycrofts.”

“Sherlock’s brother sent that car for you?”

“Mmmmmmmmm.”

“It’ll take you to Baker Street safely?”

“It could take me to Mars safely. That’d be nice. Nice trip to Mars.”

“Alright John, let’s get you to Mars.”

She looped an arm around his waist and he threw an arm over her shoulder, his other hand still grasping the bottle. They stumbled to the car together, Mary following silently with the bag. She deposited it in the boot and backed away while Molly opened the car door to put John inside.

“Do you tell lies, Molly?” he asked while she buckled his seatbelt. 

“You know I wasn’t talking about me when I said that.” she responded. “You’re trading one liar for another. Are they really so different?”

John didn’t answer and there was nothing left for Molly to shut the door. She did so, Mary sidling up beside her as the car drove away.

“Still think he’s going to forgive me?”

Molly didn’t respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me a while to update!


End file.
